


Rituals

by IronBitch35730 (Ayita35730)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: I'm Sorry Ned Stark, M/M, Ned - Freeform, POV Ned Stark, Starks are sad boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayita35730/pseuds/IronBitch35730
Summary: Every night the Starks practice rituals.orA piece about each of the Starks (even the one who didn't know he was one).
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Ned Stark, The Stark Family, Theon Greyjoy & Jon Snow & Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Kudos: 16





	Rituals

Ned watches the rats scatter around his cell, his only company in this godsforsaken place.

They tear at each other’s skin, claws and teeth stained red with blood as they mutilate each other for the few meager scraps of food left on the damp floor. The red stains the already dark puddles on the floor, their fur getting damp with it as they splash in the filth. He scoffs in disgust at their brutality, and then chides himself again. How was he blind to the danger of this place? How could he, the once leader of a rebellion not feel the chaos brewing in the air, read the hate in the eyes of his so-called companions? He attributed to them some sort of decency and honor that these, these _ abominations _ could never know. The council, the guards, the queen, they all spew lies and venom with little more subtlety than the beasts in front of him.

_ Winter is coming. _

_ Winter is coming. _

_ Winter is coming.  _

_ Winter is here, you fool, and you’ve thrown your family into the heart of the storm. _

Every night, every damned night the words scorch his tongue. He whispers them to the walls and to the rats, to the bitter spirits lurking in the dungeons. Perhaps even the Mad King himself laughs at Ned Stark’s ramblings, preaching of retribution. The gods must deem him a fool for ever imagining any hope for change here. For the potential to create something better, something lasting, something worthy of the blood both he and Robert shed in the name of a future. 

_ Winter is coming. _

On particularly difficult nights before Robert’s death (and every night since) Ned allows himself to imagine a life back at Winterfell—one stripped of all the complications that seem meaningless to him now, one where he was wise enough to leave the game of thrones to those who can play without mercy. Without honor.

He imagines Robb as a young man, wide eyed and optimistic, allowed to experience the world without the weight of the North resting on his shoulders. Ned smiles a bit, thinking of it, his lips cracking a little more at the movement, but he’s past being bothered it. He imagines Robb without that crushing responsibility would be even more beloved than he already is. The boy was  _ good _ from the moment he opened his eyes, loving without prejudice, living without scorn. He imagines him rolling on floor with Grey Wind, his light-hearted laugh lighting up the halls of Winterfell. His son has his strength and his mother kindness, but not their reservations. The rest of the children adore Robb, and Robb dotes on them endlessly in turn. He’s never looked at Jon as anything less than a brother, and has kept Theon by his side despite the disapproval of the other lords. A feat Ned himself could never emulate. 

He imagines Jon Stark, proud and loved, standing tall at his brother’s side. Not weighed by the pain and disgust forever tacked to the name ‘Snow.’ It's all Jon ever wanted that he still wouldn’t ask for, not once. He’s never showed jealousy at the lordship, at the power or prestige, no the poor boy’s eyes only ever yearned for the family table he was kept from, for the acceptance and love shown by Catelyn to the other children. Ned fiercely wishes that wasn’t a reality he’d stamped out with his stubbornness. He dreams of a version of himself that overcame his almost obsessive hold on his honor and told Catelyn the truth, where Jon experienced her legendary compassion instead of becoming the living symbol of pain and suffering for her. 

And...for his beloved Catelyn, he imagines a chance at forgiveness. Of her gathering her children,  _ all  _ of her children (because the gods know as well as he that if he had simply told her the truth of Jon’s heritage that she would have treated the boy as her own) in her arms, content and free from the hate he forced upon her. He imagines a life where he never stood by and watched her kindness poisoned by hatred, where she never prayed for the death of a child and then her own just for the thought of it. He imagines a life where he never allowed that misery to touch her. 

He pictures Arya and Sansa, the bitterness between them erased once again. Them side by side, Sansa allowed to grow to become the magnificent and wise Lady she’s always dreamed of being without the nightmare of Joffrey lurking outside her bedchamber. He imagines showing her there is more to life than marriage, and that her worth never depended on the alliance her hand would fetch. He imagines teaching Arya everything she wants to learn, nurturing her fighting spirit and never pushing her down a path that she hates. Allowing her to be the warrior he knows she is, in his heart. He sees Jon ( _ of course _ Jon gave his daughter a blasted sword as a goodbye present) teaching her to fight, how to move, how to stay alive. He imagines Robb laughing as he forces her to listen to his secrets of strategy, and Theon showing her how to use a bow in that surprisingly patient manner of his. 

Bran…. He imagines his quietest son whole again, climbing the walls and the trees of Winterfell like he was born to, hopefully never adopting the grim manner the ravens said had become the boy’s norm. He imagines him growing up and possibly even becoming a Knight like he once wished so deeply, brave and strong. Rickon, his youngest, watching them all with pride and aspiration. He imagines watching the boy grow up into the man he’ll likely never know now, striding beside his brothers and sisters without strife or grief. 

And surprising even to himself, he imagines Theon. Not as an outsider or a ward or a hostage, but as part of them as he always should have been. He imagines apologizing to the innocent son of his enemy, whom he stole from his family. Whom he never let truly belong anywhere. He imagines never insisting his children keep their distance for their own good. He’d always justified it that he didn’t want them attached to a boy he might have to kill. But now he dreams of telling them, of telling Theon, that he couldn’t have ever hurt him regardless. He imagines all the Stark children treating him as a brother, a friend, a equal, instead of only Robb (who had ignored Ned from the first moment the boy set foot in Winterfell).

He imagines telling each and every one of them he loved them, that’s he’s sorry, that he never meant to bring this winter on them all.

_ Winter is coming. _

_ Winter is coming. _

_ Winter is coming. _

  
  


“I’m ready to confess my sins.”

He has to try. He has to try and return to them, to his family, to his home.

And if he fails, gods help them through the Winter he’s brought on them all.


End file.
